These Dances
by spoondance
Summary: An owner of a small dance studio spends her nights dancing away her thoughts and sorrows. She finds a solace she can't give up. WARNING: Character death, general description of someone dealing with depression after loss.


_**Disclaimer:** I do not own Glee._

_**A/N:** This idea came to me after meeting Kate Hudson's character in 'The New Rachel'. So yeah, it's been sitting in my folder for ages. Also, basically listened to 'Songbird' on repeat while writing this._

_**Warnings:** Character death, general talk of depression and such._

**These Dances**

A dim light flickers on in the quiet studio, soft footfalls padding across the cool floor. The dropping of a bag, jacket, and keys finally disrupting the slumber of the studio – worn and calm after a long day of instruction. The speakers hum low in a yawn as a familiar device is hooked up; the owner of the studio stepping back to stretch methodically. It was commonplace for the lights to rewarm and speakers to croak back to life late in the night, but it never seemed ready. It was always welcoming as though a friend whose arms were always held open, but the arms would be heavy and eyes tired if woken in the middle of the night – time and time and time again.

She settles into a loose stance as an upbeat tune filters into the open space. Reaching to tie back her hair tightly, she lets the rhythm set into her muscles and bones. Eyes fall closed a moment to steady her breathing and reassure herself of her immediate surroundings. A breath, a rapid beat, and eyes snap open; arms lifting as legs jump into position and muscles, tight and fluid, move to the music.

This was how she made it through the days, the nights; every breath finally bearable once she's dancing. The motions guiding her 'til she reaches a place of, not _normalcy_ but something akin to familiarity. She use to dance for blue eyes, for strong hands on her waist and a smile she always craves. Now she dances alone. It's been too long... She doesn't keep count anymore. Not 'til the anniversary rips into her every year. Even without paying attention to the passing days and months, she still knows the day; there's something unmistakeably empty about the day. It's been years...

A falter in her step causes her to curse herself and redo the step until it's near-perfection. Years of dancing and she still missteps. Years of dancing and she's still nowhere near the grace and ease of her blonde's dancing, at least in her own mind. She tries; for her, she tries. Sweat begins to gather at her temples and down her neck as her body moves quicker to match the rhythm of the song. Nothing but perfection will do because that's what Britt was and that's what she deserves: perfection.

She knows her friends-_their_ friends worry about her. She knows - after how many years? Eight? Ten? A hundred? - she should be better. But what is better? What did they hope to see from her? Did they want her smiling and joking all the time? Did they want her to step out of her-_their_ little dance studio more? Did they- they couldn't possibly hope for her to meet someone? _That_ won't happen.

Her arm twitches and her eyes shoot to the muscle in reprimand. Steady, fluid, graceful. Keep time without _trying_ to keep time. Be professional yet playful; be apart of the music. She use to ask, -_'God, BrittBritt, how do you do it? It looks so natural and... breathtaking.'-_ And her answer would be a giggle and then, -_'You just have to lose yourself to the music. Then you become apart of it – you're an essential piece to the music instead of a removable prop.'- _And she _tries. _

It's not that she blames her friends or is ungrateful to them. They bring her some light and warmth when she's with them. And she doesn't mean to worry them but there's nothing she can do. She's doing everything she can and she's as alive as she's ever going to get now. Her days are filled with teaching dance classes – kids, students, aspiring dancers, senior citizens. And all types of dances; between her and the three other instructors under her pay, they're able to bring dance to so many people. Britt would have been so happy.

Just about the only class she doesn't teach personally is couples' dancing. Specifically, the waltz for those lovebirds looking to brush up for their impending wedding nights or anniversaries. She'd taught one class at the request of one of her best friends: Quinn had begged her to teach her and her fiance for their wedding a few years after Britt had... well after she was gone. She'd done so because who better to teach her friends who'd done so much for her? And she was happy for them, still is. So she had taken on one class for them to join and helped them in finding the best, most natural and romantic way for them to share their first dance without the groom rolling over the bride's feet. She remembers asking them why not just cuddle up in his chair on the dance floor. Quinn had smiled and said they both felt dancing was a big part of their lives and there was no way they were going to skip having that on their wedding night – the cuddling would probably end out the song(which it had). She suspected that what she had meant was that, aside from the two simply loving to dance and it having their own meaning to them, they were trying to include _her_ in their happy day. Brittany was loved by everyone and her absence was, ironically, always felt. They missed her too. But she barely made it through each class as she had to watch all these happy couples; all these happy strangers being in love and laughing and holding and arguing. _God_ she misses fighting with Brittany. She misses everything. She'd even gladly gaze upon a Brittany who was completely disappointed in her.

The song changes and she moves as smoothly as she can into the next, slower but still upbeat song. Her girl would have seamlessly stepped into the song as if it was simply a continuation of the last and not a random beat thrown out at her. Feet and body rocking forward and back, to the side and a heavy step over and she's sure she's got the new beat set in her chest.

Alone. Lonely. There really was no difference for her. -_'But I'm lonley, Britt!' 'Oh no you're not. You're just alone and only for a couple hours, I might add.'- _She still talked with her friends, yes, but not too often. She talked with her co-workers, her students too, but when the day was done, she was silent and wanting _her_. Quinn had once asked if she had thought about children; her friend knew how much she had longed for children and also how lost she was. And she _had_ thought about it. She was more than capable of providing for, raising, and loving a child even without her lover. But the truth was that she doubted how well she'd cope alone over time... Already feeling as if she'd been teetering on the edge for awhile, she didn't think a child would truly flourish in her care. No, she didn't want a child before she was ready. ...Not without Brittany.

She breathes slowly as the song winds down, preparing for the next. Holding her stance as the last note fades, she glances at the clock. _1:30_. How did it get so late? A piano melody taps into the air and causes a tremble. Her breath catches and she struggles not the lose her balance. Why this song? Why hadn't she deleted it? Why- _Focus. _It's just a song and a song that should be danced with just the same as any. She breathes.

She never truly left the studio. It'd become her home; her two bedroom apartment growing more silent and still with each passing day it was left barely visited. The hard wood floors here became more comfortable than her bed, the mirrors clearer, and the windows let in more light. Over the years, she'd probably spent more hours dancing than any time spent in the empty- _too _empty apartment. How could it be that the memories of her sweetheart were brighter here? Visions of her dancing shimmered, her laughter spun about the ceilings, and her smile... she swore she could see the remnants of that beautiful smile each time she turned in the mirrors.

Sweat streaks down her neck as she puts all of herself into the song. Strong motions, light steps. The song called for it and she was giving it what it needed. A turn and she smiles at the placing. Perfect. -_'Don't get cocky, Lopez.'_- One, two steps and a stretch. Perfect. Stretch, bend, sweep and this is where she sought to be. Each step falling inline perfectly, pumping straight to her heart and lifting her. She was flying. -_'Beautiful.'_-

She refocuses, recommits herself to the song though shes still flying. She adores these moments, the freedom in grace. Motion and emotion combine and though the song rings a somber bell in her heart, she's smiling in a happiness she rarely experiences these days. She breathes and feels a warmth on her neck; she sets a slow spin and feels a pressure on her waist. A waver in the air. She glances to the mirror and sees a smile. Her heart is thumping comfortably, keeping tune with the melody and her movements. It kicks them slows, kicks then slows; she hears a laugh and her heart is off racing with her soul.

"Britt," she sighs and blue eyes are before her.

It usually doesn't happen often. Too infrequently for her liking, but recently... recently it's been happening most nights she dances. She knows it's not real, she knows it can't last, but she'll dance as long as she can to see her. Because she feels closest to Brittany when she dances and she figures Brittany feels it too. It only makes sense that the blonde would want to dance with her then.

She swears she feels an arm wrap about her waist and her eyes fall shut to take it in. Heat surrounds her and she _feels_ her, really feels her; pressed up against her, holding her close, nudging her nose at her jawline and neck like she likes to. And that warmth on her neck, it's her love's sweet breath. They dance, swept into the notes and drifting. Her eyes open and it's Brittany – it's all Brittany.

It's never been this real before. Never so _tangible_. A gasp leaves her and she's held tighter. "Brittany?" There's an echo, as if it were spoken long ago and through the song playing, -_'San.'- _She chokes back a sob but is grinning. It's Brittany, she's dancing with Brittany and she never wants to leave. But she sees the waver in the visage before her and she stumbles, falling to her knees. Alone.

And she starts weeping. The blonde had been there, in her mind, and she'd let it slip; let her be torn away again. Her heart throbs in wounds never healed. She just wants to see her again, feel her again, dance with her again. She wants to hold her and kiss and laugh with her. Her cries soften as her thoughts spin out. So why can't she? _'Brittany wouldn't want you to. She'd want you to move on and live a happy life, to remember her but to live.' _She angrily tears at the thought. Brittany would understand, she can be disappointed and sad all she likes but she would understand _why_. She would have to understand because she couldn't go on like this without her. Without these dances.

So she'll dance. Day and night and as long as she can, always searching for the dancer in her mind and arms. Brittany couldn't hold it against her to take this path, to make _this_ her life's journey. She just couldn't.

She stands and smiles brightly at the hazy image that fills her mind, a watery laugh leaving her as she lifts her arms.

And it's just her and her girl dancing 'til a sunset that never quite touches their toes.


End file.
